Test Bank for Canadian Income Taxation 2017 2018 Canadian 20th

Edition Buckwold ISBN 1259275809 9781259275807

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MULTIPLE CHOICE. Choose the one alternative that best completes the statement or answers the question.

1) The CEO at Big Company Corporation has decided to sell a piece of capital equipment after
the company's year-end in order to avoid paying capital gains tax this year. Which tax planning
method will the CEO be using?
A) Transferring income to another entity.
B) This is a form of tax evasion and is not allowed.
C) Shifting income from one time period to another.
D) Converting the nature of income from one type to another.
Answer: C

2) Which of the following scenarios illustrates a potential tax avoidance scheme?

A) Dividends received from shares transferred from a wife to her husband are taxed in the
hands of the wife.
B) Property transferred between arm's-length parties is valued at fair market value.
C) A man transfers property to his child at a value less than fair market value.
D) A shareholder owns two corporations and undertakes legal steps in order to permit
loss utilization between the two companies.
Answer: C

3) The controller ofLittle Company Ltd. has decided to sell a piece of capital equipment after
the company's year-end in order to avoid paying tax on capital gains this year. The
controller is engaging in
A) tax evasion. B) tax avoidance. C) tax planning. D) GAAR.
Answer: C

4) Certain skills are necessary for successful tax planning. One of these skills is applying
the time value of money. Which of the following is FALSE regarding this skill?
A) Applying the time value of money is a tool used for wealth accumulation.
B) If a taxpayer earns an annual return of 12% and is subject to a 40% tax rate, the annual
after-tax return is 4.8%.
C) If a taxpayer invests $1,000 at 8% and subsequently earns $48 in after-tax income
on the investment at the end of the first year, the taxpayer's tax rate is 40%.
 D) If a taxpayer invests $1,000 for one year at a rate of return of 14% and is subject to a 45%
tax rate, the after-tax value of the investment will be $1,077.
Answer: B

1
 5) Which of the following statements regarding GAAR is true?
A) Individuals who organize their affairs in order to pay as little tax as possible
will automatically be subject to GAAR.
B) The purpose of GAAR is to catch tax evaders.
C) When an avoidance transaction takes place, the anti-avoidance rule is automatically applied
in all circumstances.
D) The Canada Revenue Agency states that "A transaction will not be an avoidance transaction if
the taxpayer establishes that it is undertaken primarily for bona fide business, investment or
family purposes."
Answer: D

ESSAY. Write your answer in the space provided or on a separate sheet of paper.

6) StevenJames earned $150,000 this year in profits from his proprietorship, which placed him in a 45
bracket. The rate of tax for Canadian-controlled private corporations in his province is 15% on the
fi $500,000 of income. Personal tax rates (federal plus provincial) in James' province are:

On the first $46,000 24%

On the next $46,000 32%
On the next $50,000 40%
On the next $61,000 45%
On income over $203,000 50%

(All rates are assumed for this question.)

Steven withdraws $3,000 per month for his personal living expenses. All remaining profits are used t
taxes and to expand the business. Steven expects the same business after-tax profits next year.

Steven is considering incorporating his business next year. If he incorporates, he will pay himself
a g salary of $48,000.

Required:

A. Determine the increase in Steven's cash flow if he incorporates his company? Show all calculation B.
Name the type of tax planning that Steve would be engaging in if he incorporated his company.
Answer: A) Excess cash as a proprietorship:

Pre-tax Profits $150,000

Tax:
24% 46,000 $11,040
32% 46,000 14,720
40% 50,000 20,000
45% 8,000 3,600 (49,360)
(Assume federal plus provincial rates)
After-tax profits $100,640

2
 Living expenses withdrawn (36,000)
Available for expansion $64,640

Excess cash as a corporation:

Profits before salary $150,000

Salary (48,000)
Corporate pre-tax profits 102,000
Tax: 15% x 102,000 (15,300)
After-tax profits (Available for $86,700
expansion)
Excess cash available for expansion $22,060
($86,700 - $64,640)

C) Transferring income from one entity to another (individual to corporation)

7) Part A: List the three key factors of cash flow.

Part B: List the six skills required for tax planning as suggested in the textbook.
Answer: Part A:
Three key factors of cash flow

1. Amount of money coming in

2. Amount of money going out
3. Timing

Part B:
Six skills required for tax planning

1. Anticipation
2. Flexibility
3. Speculation
th
4. Applying the 8 Wonder of the World
5. Perspective

6. Global approach

3
8) Andrew has $10,000 to invest. He wants to put his money in a one-year investment earning
an annua rate of 12%. Andrew is in a 42% tax bracket.

Required:

a) Calculate the total value of Andrew's investment, after-tax, at the end of the year.
b) Calculate the amount of taxes Andrew will have to pay on his investment.
Answer: a) ($10,000 × 1.12) × (1 - .42) = $10,696
b) $10,000 × .12 × .42 = $504

9) Match each of the following terms with the most accurate example. Use each example only once.

TERMS: Tax
evasion Tax
planning Tax
avoidance

EXAMPLES:
A. An individual is seeking a beneficial outcome, and therefore, applies an application that is
not spe prohibited by law.
B. A business is seeking a beneficial outcome, and therefore, does not report a portion of
revenue ear during the year.
C. Two unrelated companies take steps to become related in order to shift income from the
profitable to the company with losses.
Answer: An individual is seeking a beneficial outcome, and therefore, applies an application that
is not specifically prohibited by law. Tax planning
A business is seeking a beneficial outcome, and therefore, does not report a portion
of revenue during the year. Tax evasion
Two unrelated companies take steps to become related in order to shift income from the
profita business to the company with losses. Tax avoidance

4
10) For eachof the examples listed below, state which of the following three categories of tax planning
h applied:

Shifting income from one time period to another

Shifting income from one entity to another Shifting

income from one type of income to another.

A. Jack has run a successful proprietorship for the past four years, and has now decided
to incorporat company.
B. Karen has decided not to pay herself a dividend from her corporation, (of which she is the sole
sh but has chosen to sell a portion of her shares to an associate instead.
C. XYZ Corporation has chosen to delay the recognition of a discretionary reserve until the followin
Answer: A. Shifting income from one entity to another
B. Shifting income from one type of income to another
C. Shifting income from one time period to another

5
Answer Key
Testname: UNTITLED2

1) C
2) C
3) C
4) B
5) D
6) A) Excess cash as a proprietorship:

Pre-tax Profits $150,000

Tax:
24% 46,000 $11,040
32% 46,000 14,720
40% 50,000 20,000
45% 8,000 3,600 (49,360)
(Assume federal plus provincial rates)
After-tax profits $100,640
Living expenses withdrawn (36,000)
Available for expansion $64,640

Excess cash as a corporation:

Profits before salary $150,000

Salary (48,000)
Corporate pre-tax profits 102,000
Tax: 15% x 102,000 (15,300)
After-tax profits (Available for $86,700
expansion)
Excess cash available for expansion $22,060
($86,700 - $64,640)

C) Transferring income from one entity to another (individual to corporation)

6
Answer Key
Testname: UNTITLED2

7) Part A:
Three key factors of cash flow

1. Amount of money coming in

2. Amount of money going out
3. Timing

Part B:
Six skills required for tax planning

1. Anticipation
2. Flexibility
3. Speculation
th
4. Applying the 8 Wonder of the World
5. Perspective

6. Global approach
8) a) ($10,000 × 1.12) × (1 - .42) =
$10,696 b) $10,000 × .12 × .42 = $504
9) An individual is seeking a beneficial outcome, and therefore, applies an application that is not
specifically prohibited by law. Tax planning
A business is seeking a beneficial outcome, and therefore, does not report a portion of revenue earned durin
Tax evasion
Two unrelated companies take steps to become related in order to shift income from the profitable
business company with losses. Tax avoidance
10) A. Shifting income from one entity to another
B. Shifting income from one type of income to another
C. Shifting income from one time period to another

7
Exam Case Two
st
It is February 1 , 20x8 and Chloe and Bart have come to ask you some questions regarding their
20x7 tax returns. The couple lives in a common-law relationship. Bart is a chef at a luxury hotel
and Chloe is an electrician in a nearby city.

Bart’s remuneration (salary) in 20x7 was $84,000. The following information is available from
Bart’s 20x7 T4 slip:
Deductions from pay:
CPP and EI 3,400
Registered Pension Plan Contribution 2,000
Income tax deducted 25, 000

Bart’s employer contributes an equal portion to Bart’s RPP. Bart is also provided with a
company car for use during the entire year. The car is leased by the hotel. Lease payments are
$550 per month. The hotel pays $400 per month for the operating costs of the vehicle. Bart drove
the car a total of 22,000 kilometres last year. 9,000 of these were for personal travel. Bart also
earned $3,000 in 20x7 from the restaurant’s tip pool. His employer did not report the tips on
Bart’s T4.

Bart withdrew $10,000 from his RRSP in 20x7. Both Bart and Chloe contribute to their TFSAs
each year. They each have a balance of $8,000 in their TFSAs, bearing 3% annual interest.

Chloe earns $65,000. She is waiting for her T4 from the electrical company to arrive in the
mail, so will address some other issues at this point in time which she believes might affect her
20x7 taxes.

1) She sold a small piece of land in 20x7 (which is capital in nature) for $68,000. The land
originally cost $50,000. Selling costs were $800. She received $35,000 of the proceeds
in 20x7 and will receive the remainder of the funds this year (20x8).

2) Chloe began a small farming operation on the couple’s acreage in 20x7. Her farm
revenue totaled $5,000 in 20x7 and her expenses were $17,000. She has never farmed
before, but her business looks promising and she expects a significant increase in sales
this year.

Required:

a) Calculate Bart’s minimum net income for tax purposes, and taxable income, for 20x7.
Show your work using the aggregating formula from Section 3 of the Income Tax Act.

b) Calculate Bart’s federal tax liability for 20x7.

c) Calculate the 20x7 tax consequences from Chloe’s two issues.

(Use 2017 tax rules.)

Solution:
a)
ITA 3(a)
Employment income:
Remuneration $84,000
Gratuities 3,000
Standby charge 1,980
[($550 x 2/3 x 12) x 9,000/20,004]
Operating benefit
Lessor of $2,250 ($9,000 x .25)
and $990 ($1,980 x .5) 990
RPP contribution (2,000)
Employment income $87,970

ITA 3(c)
Other income:
RRSP withdrawal $10,000

Net income for tax purposes $97,970

Taxable income $97,970

(Amounts are rounded)

b) Federal tax liability

$ 97,970.00

$ 45,916.00 0.15 $ 6,887

$ 45,915.00 0.205 $ 9,413
$ 6,139.00 0.26 $ 1,596
$ 97,970.00 $ 17,896

NON-REFUNDABLE TAX CREDITS

BASIC $ 11,635
CPP/EI $ 3,400
EMPLOYMENT $ 1,178
0.15 $ 16,213 $ 2,432
FEDERAL TAX LIABILITY $ 15,464
c) 1. Capital gain on sale of land

Proceeds $68,000 – Adjusted cost base $50,000 – Selling costs $800 = Capital gain
of $17,200

Capital Gain $17,200

Less capital gain reserve: lesser of:

33,000 x 17200 $ 8,347

68,000

0.8 x 17200 $ 13,760

$ 8,347
Capital gain $8,853
Taxable capital gain $4,426

Chloe will have a taxable capital gain this year of $4,426 due to the deferral of
a portion of the proceeds.

2. Farming income loss

Revenue $ 5,000
Expenses ($17,000)
Net loss for tax purposes ( $ 12,000)

Since farming is not Chloe’s chief source of income, the amount of her losses will be
restricted. She will be allowed to deduct $7,250*:

$2,500 + 50% ($12,000 - $2,500)

*(Restricted farm loss cannot exceed $17,500)

The $4,750 difference between this year’s $12,000 loss and the allowable deduction of
$7,250 can be carried back three years or forwards twenty years and applied against
Chloe’s farming income. (Since she did not farm prior to 20x7, the loss will be carried
forward.)
Another random document with
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windows were all open, and a couple of softly-burning lamps lit up the
twilight with two half-veiled moons of light. There was not a lovely prospect
as at Sunninghill; nothing, indeed, but the London square, where a few trees
vegetated, just room enough for the dews to fall, and for ‘the little span of
sky and little lot of stars’ to unfold themselves. But even London air grows
soft with that musical effect of summer, and the sounds of passing voices
and footsteps broke in with a faint, far-off sound as in dreams: the country
itself could not have been more peaceful. Mrs. Beresford, half ashamed of
herself, sat down at the little, bright tea-table, just within the circle of one of
the lamps, and made tea, talking with a little attempt at gaiety, in which,
indeed, the natural revulsion of relief after that outbreak of alarm and
melancholy was evident. It was she now who was the soul of the little party;
for the doctor was moody and preoccupied, and her husband watched her
with an anxiety almost too great to be kept within the bounds of ordinary
calm. She rose, however, to the occasion. She began to talk of their probable
travels, of Baden and Homburg, and all the other places which had been
suggested to her. ‘We shall be as well known about the world as the
Wandering Jew,’ she said; ‘better, for he had not a wife; and now that we
have nearly exhausted Europe, there will be nothing for us but the East or
Egypt—suppose we go to Egypt; that would be original?’
‘Not at all original,’ said Mr. Maxwell, who seemed half to resent her
new-born gaiety. ‘All the cockneys in the world go to Egypt. Mr. Cook does
the Pyramids regularly; and as for Jerusalem, it is common, common as
Margate, and the society not much unlike.’
‘Margate is very bracing, I have always heard,’ said Mrs. Beresford, ‘and
much cheaper than a German bath. What do you say to saving money,
James, and eating shrimps and riding donkeys? I remember being at Margate
when I was a child. They say there is no such air anywhere; and Mr.
Maxwell says that the sea, if I like the sea——’
‘As for bracing air, my love, I think there is nothing like St. Moritz. Do
you remember how it set me up after that—that——’
‘Give him a big, well-sounding name, doctor,’ said Mrs. Beresford,
laughing; ‘it was only a bilious attack. But talking of the sea, there is Biarritz
—that would do, don’t you think? It is warm, and it was gay. After all,
however, I don’t think I care for the sea. The Italian lakes are fine in the
autumn, and as it gets cooler we might get on perhaps to Florence, or even
Rome—or Kamtschatka, or Timbuctoo, or the Great Sahara,’ she said, with a
burst of laughter. ‘You are complaisance itself, you gentlemen. Now I’ll go
and sing you something to reward you for humouring me to the top of my
bent, and licensing me to go where I please.’
She had a pretty voice and sang well. The piano was at the other end of
the room, the ‘back drawing-room’ of the commonplace London house. The
two men kept their places while she went away into the dim evening, and sat
down there scarcely visible, and sang. The soft, sweet voice, not powerful,
but penetrating, rose like a bird in the soft gloom. James Beresford looked at
the doctor with an entreating look of secret anguish as the first notes rose
into the air, so liquid, so tender, so sweet.
‘Are you afraid? tell me!’ he said, with pathetic brevity.
Maxwell could not bear this questioning. He started up, and went to look
this time at a picture on the wall. ‘I don’t know that I have any occasion to
be afraid,’ he said, standing with his back turned to his questioner, and quite
invisible from the piano. ‘I’m—a nervous man for a doctor when I’m
interested in a case——’
Here there was a pause, for she had ended the first verse of the song, and
the low warble of the symphony was not enough to cover their voices.
‘Don’t speak of her as a case,’ said Beresford, low but eager, as the
singing recommenced: ‘you chill my very blood.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ said the doctor, with colloquial homeliness; and he
went away into the back drawing-room and sat down near the piano, to
escape being questioned, poor Beresford thought, who sat still mournfully in
the narrow circle of the lamplight, asking himself whether there was really
anything to fear. The soft security of the house with all its open windows, the
friendly voices heard outside, the subdued pleasant light, the sweet voice
singing in the dimness, what a picture of safety and tranquillity it made!
What should happen to disturb it? Why should it not go on for ever? James
Beresford’s sober head grew giddy as he asked himself this question, a
sudden new ache undreamed of before leaping up, in spite of him, into his
heart. The doctor pretended to be absorbed in the song; he beat time with his
fingers as the measure went on. Never in the memory of man had he shown
so much interest in singing before. Was it to conceal something else,
something which could not be put into words, against the peace of this happy
house, which had come into his heart?
 Fortunately, however, Beresford thought, his wife forgot all about that
agitating scene for some days. She did not speak of it again; and for about a
week after was unusually lively and gay, stronger and better than she had
been for some time, and more light in heart, talking of their journey, and
making preparations for it with all the pleasant little sentiment which their
‘honeymooning’ expeditions had always roused in her. When everything was
ready, however, the evening before they left home a change again came over
her. Cara had been sent to Sunninghill with her nurse that day, and the child
had been unwilling to go, and had clung to her mother with unusual
pertinacity. Even when this is inconvenient it is always flattering: and
perhaps Mrs. Beresford was pleased with the slight annoyance and
embarrassment which it caused.
‘Remember, James,’ she said, with some vivacity, as they sat together that
evening, ‘this is to be the last time we go honeymooning. Next time we are
to be respectable old married people (as we are, with our almost grown-up
daughter). She is nearly as tall as I am, the child! nearly eleven—and so very
tall for her age.’
‘I think we might take her,’ said Beresford, who indeed had often wished
for her before. ‘She is old enough to bear the travelling, and otherwise it
would do her good.’
‘Yes; this must be the last time,’ she said, her voice suddenly dropping
into a sigh, and her mood changing as rapidly. A house is dreary on the eve
of departure. Boxes in the hall, pinafores on the furniture, the pretty china,
the most valuable nicknacks all carried away and locked up—even the
habitual books disturbed from their places, the last Pall Mall on the table.
The cloud came over her face as shadows flit over the hills, coming down
even while she was speaking. ‘The last time!’ she said. ‘I can’t help
shivering. Has it grown cold? or is it that someone is walking over my grave,
as people say?’
‘Why, Annie, I never knew you were superstitious.’
‘No. It is a new thing for me; but that is scarcely superstition. And why
should I care who walked over my grave? I must die some time or other and
be buried, unless they have taken to burning before then. But there is one
thing I feel a great deal about,’ she added, suddenly. ‘I said it once before,
and you were frightened, James. If you knew that I was going to die of a
painful disease—must die—that nothing could happen to save me, that there
was nothing before me but hopeless pain—James, dear, listen to me!—don’t
you think you would have the courage for my sake to make an end of me, to
put me out of my trouble?’
‘Annie, for Heaven’s sake don’t talk so. It is nonsense, but it makes me
unhappy.’
‘As a matter of speculation,’ she said, with a knowledge of his weakness,
‘you can’t think it would be wrong to do it—do you, James?’
‘As a matter of speculation,’ he said; and the natural man awoke in him.
He forgot the pain the idea had caused him, and thought of it only as an idea;
to put it in other words, the woman beguiled him, and he got upon one of his
hobbies. ‘There are many things one allows as speculation which one is not
fond of in fact. People must have a certain power over their own lives, and I
think with you, my love, that it is no charity to keep infirm and suffering
people just alive, and compel them to drag their existence on from day to
day. Notwithstanding Heaven’s canon ‘gainst self-slaughter, I think people
should be allowed a certain choice. I am not altogether against euthanasia;
and if indeed recovery is hopeless and life only pain——’
‘Yes, James,’ she said, eagerly, her eyes lighting up, her cheeks flaming
with the red of excitement; ‘I am glad you see it like that; one might go
further perhaps—when from any reason life was a burden; when one was
useless, hopeless, unhappy——’
‘Stop a little; we are going too fast,’ he said, with a smile, so entirely did
the argument beguile him. ‘No one is justified in treating unhappiness like a
mortal disease; unhappiness may pass away—does pass away, we all know,
even when it seems worst. I cannot allow that; neither would I let people
judge which lives were useless, their own or other people’s; but illness
which was beyond the possibility of cure might be different; therefore, if the
patient wished it, his wish, I think, should be law—— Annie, my darling!
what is this? what do you mean?’
She had suddenly risen from where she was sitting near him, and thrown
herself half at his feet, halt into his arms.
‘Only this,’ she said; ‘promise me—promise me, James! if this should
ever happen to me—if you had the assurance, not only from me, but from—
the people who know—that I had a terrible complaint, that I could never get
better; promise that you would put me out of my pain, James. Promise that
you would give me something to deliver me. You would not stand by and see
me going down, down into the valley of death, into misery and weariness
and constant pain, and, O God! loathsomeness, James!’
She buried her head in his breast, clinging to him with a grasp which was
almost fierce; her very fingers which held him, appealing strenuously,
forcing a consent from him. What could he say? He was too much distressed
and horrified to know how to shape his answer. Fond words, caresses,
soothings of every kind were all in vain for use at such a moment. ‘Far be it
from you, my darling; far be it from you,’ he cried. ‘You! oh, how can you
let your imagination cheat you so, my love! Nothing like this is going to
happen, my Annie, my best, my dearest—— ’
‘Ah!’ she cried; ‘but if it were not imagination!—promise me, James.’
Whether she did eventually wring this wild promise from him he never
knew. He would have said anything to calm her, and finally he succeeded;
and having once more cleared her bosom of this perilous stuff, she regained
her gaiety, her courage and spirits, and they set off as cheerful as any pair of
honeymoon travellers need wish to be. But after she had left him and gone to
her room pacified and comforted that night, you may fancy what sort of a
half hour that poor man had as he closed the windows, which had still been
left open, and put out the lamps, as was his practice, for they were
considerate people and did not keep their servants out of bed. He stepped out
on the balcony and looked up at the moon, which was shedding her stream
of silver light as impartially upon the London housetops as if those white
roofs had been forest trees. How still it seemed, every one asleep or going to
rest, for it was late—a few lights glimmering in high windows, a sensation
of soft repose in the very air! God help this silent, sleeping earth, upon
which, even in her sleep, dark evils were creeping! Was someone perhaps
dying somewhere even at that serene moment, in the sweet and tranquil
stillness? His heart contracted with a great pang. In the midst of life we are
in death. Why had those haunting, terrible words come into his ears?
 CHAPTER III.

HONEYMOONING.

The real honeymoon is not always a delightful moment. This, which sounds
like heresy to the romantic, and blasphemy to the young, is a fact which a
great many people acknowledge readily enough when they have got beyond
the stage at which it sounds like an offence to the wife or to the husband who
is supposed to have made that period rapturous. The new pair have not the
easy acquaintance with each other which makes the happiness of close
companionship; perhaps they have not that sympathy with each other’s tastes
which is almost a better practical tie than simple love. They are half afraid of
each other; they are making discoveries every day of new points in each
other’s characters, delightful or undelightful as may be, which bewilder their
first confidence of union; and the more mind and feeling there is between
them, the more likely is this to be the case. The shallow and superficial ‘get
on’ better than those who have a great deal of excellence or tender depth of
sentiment to be found out. But after the pair have come to full acquaintance,
after they have learned each other from A B C up to the most difficult
chapter; after the intercourse of ordinary life has borne its fruit; there is
nothing in the world so delightful as the honeymooning which has passed by
many years the legitimate period of the honeymoon. Sometimes one sees
respectable fathers and mothers enjoying it, who have sent off their children
to the orthodox honeymoon, and only then feel with a surprised pleasure
how sweet it is to have their own solitude à deux; to be left to themselves for
a serene and happy moment; to feel themselves dearer and nearer than they
ever were before. There is something infinitely touching and tender in this
honeymooning of the old. James Beresford and his wife, however, were not
of these. They were still young, and of all the pleasures they had there was
none equal to this close and unbroken companionship. They knew each other
so well, and all their mutual tastes, that they scarcely required to put their
intercourse into words; and yet how they would talk—about everything,
about nothing, as if they had just met after a long absence, and had thoughts
to exchange on every subject. This is a paradox; but we are not bound to
explain paradoxes which are of the very essence of life, and the most
attractive things in it. It had been the habit of these two to go everywhere
together. Mrs. Beresford had not the prejudices of an English female
Philistine. She went where her husband wanted to go, fearing nothing, and
trotted about with him high and low, through picture galleries and old
churches, to studios, even behind the scenes of the operas, and through the
smoke clouds of big ateliers. Nothing came amiss to her with him by her
side. It is almost the only way in which a woman can enjoy the freedom of
movement, the easy locomotion of a man. Mrs. Beresford went away quite
cheerfully, as we have said. She forgot or put away her mysterious terrors.
She addressed herself to all the ordinary enjoyments which she knew so
well. ‘We shall never be so free again,’ she said, half laughing, half with a
remote infinitesimal pang. ‘We shall have to go to the correct places and do
the right things when Cara is with us.’ ‘We must give up bric-a-brac,’ she
said afterwards. ‘Cara must not grow up acquainted with all those dusty back
premises; her pretty frocks would be spoiled and her infantine sincerity. If
she had heard you bargaining, James, for that Buen Retiro cup! Saying it is
naught, it is naught, and then bragging of the treasure you had found as soon
as it was out of the dealer’s hands.’
‘Well,’ he said, with a shrug of his shoulders; ‘I only do as other people
do. Principles of honour don’t consist with collecting. I am no worse than
my neighbours.’
‘But that will never do for Cara,’ said the mother; ‘if you and I are not all
her fancy painted us, we will not do for Cara. No; I thought you had never
remarked her really. She is the most uncompromising little idealist! and if
we disappoint her, James, I don’t know what the child will do.’
‘It appears to me that you are making a bugbear of Cara.’
‘No; but I know her. We must give up the bric-a-brac; for if you continue
with it under her blue eyes you will be ruined. If she was here she would
make you go back and tell the man he has sold you that cup too cheap.’
‘That would be nonsense,’ said Mr. Beresford, involuntarily putting his
hand into the pocket where he kept his money. ‘Folly! You don’t suppose he
gave half as much for it as he sold it to us for. The very mention of that sort
of sickening conscientiousness puts one out. We are to sell in the dearest and
buy in the cheapest market, eh? That’s the true principle of trade.’
‘It is not in the Bible, though,’ said Mrs. Beresford, with a smile. ‘Cara
would open her eyes and wonder; and you, who are the weakest of men,
could never stand against her if Cara made big eyes.’
‘The weakest of men! You flatter me, it must be allowed——’
‘Yes; so you are, James. You could not endure to be disapproved of. What
would have become of you if I, instead of giving in to all your ways, had
been a more correct and proper person? If I had made you visit just the right
things—go to English parties, and keep to the proper sort of tourist society?
If you had been obliged to sit indoors in the evenings and read a Galignani
or a Tauchnitz novel while I worked, what would have become of you? I
know well enough, for my part.’
‘I should have done it, I suppose,’ he said, half laughing; ‘and will Cara
—little Cara—be like that? You frighten me, Annie; we had better make
away with her somehow; marry her, or hand her over to the aunts, before it
comes to this.’
Then a sudden change came over the smiling face. ‘Cara—or someone
else—will most likely be like that. Poor James! I foresee trouble for you.
How you will think of me when you are in bonds! when you want to go out
and roam about on the Boulevards, and have to sit still instead and read
aloud to somebody! Ah, how you will think of me! You will say, Poor
Annie! if Annie had but lived——’
‘What is this? what is this?’ he said. ‘Again, Annie! I think you want to
make me miserable; to take all the comfort out of my life.’
‘Oh, no, no; not that,’ she said. ‘I am only going to get my bonnet, and
then we shall go out. Cara is not here yet to keep us in order. We can
honeymoon yet for one more year.’
Was this only the caprice of her nature (she had always been capricious)
going a little further than usual? Her husband liked her all the better for her
quick changes of sentiment; the laughing and crying that were like an April
sky. He said to himself that she had always been like that; always changing
in a moment, quarrelling sometimes even, making him uncomfortable for
mere variety. Monotony was the thing she hated; and now she had taken this
fad, this fancy, and thought herself ill. How could she be ill when she still
could run about with him and enjoy herself as much as ever? How keen she
had been in the bric-a-brac shop of which she had chosen to talk! He never
should have found out that Buen Retiro cup but for her. It was her sharp eyes
that saw it. It was she who had rummaged through the dust and all the
commonplace gatherings to those things which had really interest. Ill!
though all the College of Physicians swore it, and she to boot, he would not
believe that she was ill. Disturbance of the system—that was all the worst of
them ever said; but how little meaning there was in that! Out of sorts!
reduced to plain English, that was what disturbance of the system meant; and
everybody was subject to as much. She came in, while he was in the full
course of these thoughts, with a brilliant little flush on her cheeks, her eyes
shining, her whole aspect full of animation. ‘I am ready, Sir,’ she said,
making him a mocking curtsey. Yes; capricious, that was what she had
always been, and he loved her for it. It explained her changes, her fancies,
her strange notions better than anything else could do.
That was the first day, however, on which her strength really showed
symptoms of breaking down. She got tired, which was a thing she never
owned to; lost the pretty flush on her cheek, became pale, and worn out. ‘I
don’t know what is the matter with me,’ she said; ‘all at once I feel so tired.’
‘And with very good reason,’ said he. ‘Think how rapidly we have been
travelling; think what we have been doing since. Why, you were on foot the
whole morning. You are tired; so am I, for that matter. I was thinking of
saying so, but you are always so hard upon my little fatigues. What a
comfort for me to find that you, too, for once in a way, can give in!’ Thus he
tried to take her favourite part and laugh her out of her terrors. She
consented with a smile more serious than her gravity had been of old, and
they went back to their room and dined ‘quietly;’ and he sat and read to her,
according to the picture of English domesticity which she had drawn out
with smiles a few hours before. It was so soon after that tirade of hers that
they could not but remember it, both of them. As it happened, there was
nothing but a Tauchnitz novel to read (and who that has been ill or sad, or
who has had illness or sadness to solace in a foreign place, but has blessed
the novels of Tauchnitz?) and he read it, scarcely knowing what the words
were which fluttered before his eyes. And as for her, she did not take much
notice of the story either, but lay on the sofa, and listened, partly to his voice,
partly to the distant sound of the band playing, with strange heaviness and
aching in her heart. It was not that she wished to be out listening to the band,
moving about in the warm air, hearing the babble of society—that was not
what she cared for; but to be lying there out of the current; to have dropped
aside out of the stream; to be unable for the common strain of life! So he
read, sadly thinking, not knowing what he read; and she half listened, not
knowing what she was listening to. It was the first time, and the first time is
the worst, though the best. ‘It is only once in a way,’ he said to her, when the
long evening was over; ‘to-morrow you will be as well as ever.’ And so she
was. It was the most natural thing in the world that both or either of them
should be tired, once in a way.
The Beresfords stayed for a long time on the Continent that year. They
went about to a great many places. They stayed at Baden till they were tired
of the place. They went to Dresden, because Mrs. Beresford took a fancy to
see the great San Sisto picture again. Then they went on to lovely old-world
Prague, and to lively Vienna, and through the Tyrol to Milan, and then back
again to the Italian lakes. Wherever they went they found people whom it
was pleasant to know, whom they had met before on their many journeys—
people of all countries and every tongue—noble people, beautiful people,
clever people—the sort of society which can only be had by taking a great
deal of trouble about it, and which, even with the greatest amount of trouble,
many people miss entirely. This society included ambassadors and hill-
farmers, poor curés, bishops, great statesmen, and professors who were
passing rich on five shillings a day: nothing was too great or too small for
them; and as wherever they went they had been before, so wherever they
went they found friends. Sometimes it was only a chambermaid; but,
nevertheless, there she was with a pleasant human smile. And, to tell the
truth, James Beresford began to be very glad of the friendly chambermaids,
and to calculate more where they were to be found than upon any other kind
of society; for his wife had followed her usual practice of coming without a
maid, and, as her strength flagged often, he was thankful, too thankful, to
have someone who would be tender of her, and care for her as he himself
was not always permitted to do, and as nobody else but a woman could. Oh,
how he longed to get home, while he wandered about from one beautiful
spot to another, hating the fine scenery, loathing and sickening at everything
he had loved! Commonplace London and the square with its comforts would
have pleased him a hundred times better than lovely Como or the wild glory
of the mountains; but she would not hear of going home. One day, when the
solemn English of a favourite Kammer Mädchen had roused him to the
intolerable nature of the situation, he had tried, indeed, with all his might to
move her to return. ‘Your goot laty,’ Gretchen had said, ‘is nod—well. I
ton’t untershtand your goot laty. She would be bedder, mooch bedder at
‘ome, in Lonton.’ ‘I think you are right, Gretchen,’ he had said, and very
humbly went in to try what he could do. ‘My love,’ he said, ‘I am beginning
to get tired of the Tyrol. I should like to get home. The Societies are
beginning. I see Huxley’s lectures start next week. I like to be there, you
know, when all my friends are there. Shouldn’t you be pleased to get home?’
‘No,’ she said. She had been lying on the sofa, but got up as soon as he
came in. ‘You know I hate autumn in London; the fogs kill me. I can’t—I
can’t go back to the fogs. Go yourself, James, if you please, and attend all
your dear Societies, and hear Mr. Huxley. Take me to Como first, and get me
rooms that look on the lake, and hire Abbondio’s boat for me; and then you
can go.’
‘It is likely that I should go,’ he said, ‘without you, my darling! When did
I ever leave you? But there are so many comforts at home you can’t have
here; and advice—I want advice. You don’t get better so fast as I hoped.’
She looked at him with a strange smile. ‘No; I don’t get better, do I?’ she
said. ‘Those doctors tell such lies; but I don’t get worse, James; you must
allow I don’t get worse. I am not so strong as I thought I was; I can’t go
running about everywhere as I used to do. I am getting old, you know. After
thirty I believe there is always a difference.’
‘What nonsense, Annie! there is no difference in you. You don’t get back
your strength——’
‘That’s it; that’s all. If you were to leave me quite alone and quiet, to
recruit now; yes, I think I should like to know that you were in London
enjoying yourself. Why shouldn’t you enjoy yourself? Women get worn out
sooner than men; and I don’t want to cripple you, James. No; take me to
Como—I have taken a fancy to Como—and then you can come back for me
whenever you please.’
‘I am not going to leave you,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘You must not be
unreasonable, my darling. What pleasure would it be to me to go home
without you? It was you I was thinking of; for me it is all right. I am quite
happy here. As for Huxley and the rest, you don’t think I care for them. It
was you I was thinking of.’
‘You said the Societies. Whatever you do, James, speak the truth. I
suppose,’ she added, with a laugh which sounded harsh, ‘you are afraid I
shall get very ill—die, perhaps, away from home?’
Poor man! what was he to say? ‘Oh, Annie!’ he cried, ‘how you stab me!
If I thought anything of the kind, you know I’d have Sir William here to-
morrow, or any one, if it should cost me all I have. I know very well there is
no danger,’ he went on, taking a certain forlorn comfort out of his own bold
words; ‘but you don’t get up your strength as you ought, and knocking about
in these bare rooms can’t be good for you; and, living as we are—and you
have no maid——’
‘I hate a maid. I like Gretchen a great deal better. She makes so much of
me.’
‘Then take Gretchen with you, my dearest; take her to Como; keep her
with you till you get home.’
‘Oh, how like a man that is!’ she said, laughing. ‘Take Gretchen with me
—Gretchen, who is her father’s only daughter, the life and soul of the place!
What would he do without Gretchen? He would have to shut up altogether. I
might drop out of the world, and I would not be missed half so much as she
would be. Do you know I begin to get tired of this place, and the hills,
James,’ she cried, starting up. ‘Let us go and ask about Donato and his
horses. I want to get to Como before October. Why, we’ll come in for the
vintage! I like the vintage; and there are advertisements everywhere about a
sale at one of the villas. We shall be sure to pick up something. Is it too late
to start to-day?’
‘My darling, when you take a thing into your head——’
‘Yes, to be sure, I like to do it all at once. I was always hot-headed. Now
mind, we are to start to-morrow. I always loved Como, James; you know I
always did. We went there the first year we were married. I don’t call it
honeymooning when we don’t go to Como; and remember this is our last
bout of honeymooning; we shall have Cara next year.’
She laughed, and was very gay all the evening, delighted with the idea of
the change. But when he put her into Donato’s big old-fashioned vettura
next morning, and saw everything fastened on, and prepared for the long,
slow journey, poor Beresford was very sad. He thought, if he could only
have a long talk with Maxwell, and hear what Sir William had got to say,
and know what it was that he had to fear, he should be less unhappy. There
must be something, or she would not be so strange; but what was it? Almost
anything was better, he thought, than fighting in the dark—fighting with
ghosts, not knowing what you were afraid of. She was quite light-hearted at
first, interested with the drive, and waved her hands to the hills as they went
slowly out of sight. ‘Good-bye,’ she said, ‘you dear old giants! I hope those
white furs of yours will keep you warm till we bring Cara. What will Cara
think of the mountains? She never saw anything bigger than Sunninghill.’
‘Sunninghill has the effect of being much higher than it is with that great
level stretch of flat country. It impresses the imagination just as much as
your giants. Don’t laugh, Annie; but your mountains stifle me. I never have
air enough to breathe. I like miles and miles of country round me. You know
my weakness.’
‘Sunninghill before the Alps!’ she cried, laughing. ‘ ’Tis clear you are a
true cockney. Give me your shoulder for a pillow; I think I shall go to sleep.’
And so she did; and the horses jogged on and on, now slow, now fast,
their bells jingling, and Donato’s whip making harmless circles and slashes
over their heads; and houses and hedgerows, and slopes of mountain, flew
past in a dream. James Beresford could see nothing but the wan lines of the
face that rested on his shoulder, solemn in that deep sleep of weariness. How
worn she was! how pale! growing whiter, he thought, and whiter, till
sometimes in terror he stooped down close to make sure that the pale lips
were parted by living breath.
 CHAPTER IV.

THE THREE CHARITIES.

To live at Sunninghill, with one’s feet on a level with the highest pinnacle of
the big Castle at St. George’s, what a thing it was in summer! All that
country is eloquent with trees—big beeches, big oaks, straight elms, sweet
birch-trees; even the very holly-bushes, in their dark green, grow tall into
prickly, straggling monsters, as big as the elms. But the triumph of the place
perhaps is in spring, when the primroses come too thick for counting, and
the woods are full of their fairy, indefinable fragrance. In the ripe summer
there was no such lovely suggestion about; all was at that perfection which
suggests only decay. The wild flowers were foxgloves, with here and there in
the marshy places a lingering plume of meadow-sweet. The ferns had grown
too strong and tall, like little trees. The woods were in their darkest, fullest
garments of green; not another leaflet to come anywhere; all full, and
mature, and complete. Wild honeysuckle waved flags of yellow and brown
from the high branches of big trees, which it had caught and tangled in; and
made the hedge into one big wall of flowers—almost too much when the sun
was on it. In the very heart of August it was as cool in these shadowy wood-
walks as in a Gothic chapel, and here and there on a little plateau of brown
earth a bench underneath a tree offered rest and a view to the wayfarer. Mrs.
Burchell was sitting on one of these, panting a little, on the special day we
have to record. She was that rector’s wife already mentioned, who was a
contemporary of Cherry Beresford, and who grudged so much that ‘two
single women’ should have all the delights of Sunninghill. She was just Miss
Cherry’s age, fat and fair, but more than forty, and she had seven children,
and felt herself inconceivably in advance of Cherry, for whom she retained
her old friendship however, modified by a little envy and a good deal of
contempt. Cherry was an old maid; that of itself surely was quite enough to
warrant the contempt and the envy. You had but to look at Mr. Burchell’s
rectory, which lay at the foot of the hill under the shadow of the woods, but
facing towards the high road, which was very dusty, and exposed without a
tree to the blaze of the west, and to compare it with the beautiful house on
the top of the hill, sheltered so carefully, not too much nor too little—set in
velvet lawns and dewy gardens, dust and noise kept at arm’s length—to see
the difference between them. It was a difference which Mrs. Burchell for her
part could not learn not to resent; though, indeed, but for the benefice
bestowed by Miss Beresford, the Burchells must have had a much worse lot,
or indeed perhaps never would have united their lots at all. The rector’s wife
might have been as poor a creature as Miss Cherry, an old maid, and none of
the seven Burchells might ever have come into being, but for the gift of that
dusty Rectory from the ladies on the hill; but the rectorinn did not think of
that. She was seated on the bench under the big oak, fanning herself with her
handkerchief, while Agnes, her eldest daughter, and Dolly, her youngest,
dutifully waited for her. They were going up to ‘The Hill’ for tea, which was
a weekly ceremonial at least.
‘At all events, mamma, you must allow,’ said Agnes, ‘that it is better to
live at the foot of the hill than at the top. You never could take any walks if
you had this long pull up every time you went out.’
‘They don’t have any long pull,’ said her mother; ‘they have their
carriage. Ah, yes, they are very different from a poor clergyman’s wife, who
has done her duty all her life without much reward for it. It is not those who
deserve them most, or who have most need of them, who get the good things
of this life, my dear. I don’t want to judge my neighbours; but Miss Charity
Beresford I have heard all my life was not so very much better than a
heathen. It may not go so far as that—but I have seen her, with my own eyes,
laugh at your papa’s best sermons. I am afraid she is not far removed from
the wicked that flourish like a green bay tree; yet look at her lot in life and
your papa’s—a gentleman, too, and a clergyman with so many opportunities
of doing good—and she in this fine place, a mere old woman!’
‘If papa lived here should we all live here?’ said Dolly, whose small brain
was confused by this suggestion; ‘then I should have the pony instead of
Cara, and Miss Cherry would be my auntie! Oh, I wish papa lived here!’
‘Hold your tongue,’ said her mother. ‘Cherry Beresford is a ridiculous old
creature. Dear me, when I think of the time when she and I were girls
together! Who would have thought that I should have been the one to toil up
here in the sun, while she drove in her carriage. Oh, yes, that’s very true, she
was born the richest—but some girls have better luck than others! It was
mine, you see, to marry a poor clergyman. Ah, well, I daresay Cherry would
give her head to be in my place now!’
‘And you in hers? Is that what you mean, mamma?’
 ‘Me in hers! I’d like to be in her house, if that’s what you mean; but me a
fanciful, discontented, soured old maid—me!’
‘Then, mamma dear, if you are better off in one way and she in another,
you are equal,’ said Agnes, somewhat crossly; ‘that’s compensation. Have
not you rested long enough?’ Agnes was in the uncomfortable position of an
involuntary critic. She had been used to hear a great deal about the Miss
Beresfords all her life, and only a little while before had awoke out of the
tranquil satisfaction of use and wont, to wonder if all this abuse was
justifiable. She stood under the tree with her back to her mother, looking out
upon the view with an impatient sadness in her face. She was fond of her
mother; but to hear so many unnecessary animadversions vexed and
ashamed her, and the only way in which she could show this was by an
angry tone and demeanour, which sat very badly upon her innocent
countenance and ingenuous looks.
Just then they heard the sound of footsteps coming towards them, and
voices softly clear in the warm air. ‘But, Cara, we must not be so ready to
blame. All of us do wrong sometimes—not only little girls, but people who
are grown up.’
‘Then, Aunt Cherry, you ought not, and one ought to blame you. A little
child who cannot read—yes, perhaps that ought to be excused—it does not
know; but us——’
‘We do wrong, too, every day, every minute, Cara. You will learn that as
you grow older, and learn to be kind, I hope, and forgive.’
‘I shall never learn that.’
They came within sight as these words were said. Miss Cherry, in a cool
grey gown, with a broad hat which Mrs. Burchell thought far too young for
her; little Cara in her white frock, the shadows speckling and waving over
her, erect as a little white pillar, carrying herself so straight. They made a
pretty picture coming down the brown mossy path all broken up by big roots
under the cool shade of the trees. On the bank behind them were low forests
of coarse fern, and a bundle of foxgloves flowering high up on a brown
knoll. The cool and tranquil look of them felt almost like an insult to the hot
and panting wayfarers who had toiled up the path this hot day. Mrs. Burchell
was in black silk, as became her age and position; she had a great deal of
dark hair, and, though she blamed Miss Cherry for it, she, too, wore a hat;
but, though she had been resting for ten minutes, she was still red and
panting. ‘Ah, Cherry,’ she said, ‘how lucky you are coming downhill while
we have been climbing! Some people have always the best of it. It makes me
feel hotter and hotter to see you so cool and so much at your ease.’
‘We have come to meet you,’ said Miss Cherry, ‘and we shall be equal
the rest of the way, for we shall all climb. Little Dolly, will you drag me up?
You are so big and so strong, and you like to help old ladies. Come.’
Dolly being a very little mite, more fit to be carried, was made very
happy by this address. She stretched forth two fat, small hands, and made
great pretences to drag her thin charge. ‘But you must want to come, or I
can’t drag you,’ she said.
‘Dolly is a little, wise woman, and speaks proverbs and parables,’ said
Miss Cherry. ‘Yes, dear, I want to come; but we must wait for mamma.’
‘Oh, go on, you are light and airy; you have not been tried with a large
family like me! You had better give me your arm, Agnes, for the rest of the
way. What a pull it is! I don’t think I should ever walk if I had my choice. If
I could afford a pair of ponies like yours; but with so many children ponies
are out of the question,’ said Mrs. Burchell, still aggrieved. Miss Cherry
looked wistfully at the pretty daughter upon whose arm her friend laid a
heavy hand.
‘Perhaps we both have something that the other would like to have,’ she
said, mildly. ‘I believe that is the way in life.’
‘Oh, it would never do for you, a single woman, to wish for children! I
consider that most improper,’ said the rector’s wife. ‘Of course we all
wished for husbands in our day, and some of us were successful and some
weren’t; but it isn’t a subject to be talked of, pardon me, my dear Cherry,
before young girls.’
Miss Cherry opened her mild eyes very wide, and then she blushed a
delicate, overwhelming old-maidenly blush, one of those demonstrations of
feeling which are almost more exquisite in the old than in the young. She did
not make any reply. Mrs. Burchell went on in her daughter’s ear: ‘She is an
old fool—look at her. Blushing! as if she were a young girl.’
‘I can’t blush when I please, mamma,’ said Agnes; ‘neither, I suppose,
can she. Lean on me a little heavier; we shall soon get to the top now.’
‘Why, she runs actually,’ said poor Mrs. Burchell. ‘She is as light as
Dolly; she doesn’t mind the hill. So, Cara, your papa and mamma have gone
away again? Why don’t they take you with them? I should think you are old
enough now to go too. How different people are! Now, I can never bear to be
separated from my children. I like them to go everywhere with me. It is quite
astonishing the difference. Doesn’t your Aunt Charity think it strange that
they should always send you here?’
‘Aunt Charity likes to have me,’ said Cara; ‘for mamma travels very fast,
and I should get very tired. I think I like the Hill best. Mamma is not very
strong, and I should have to stop all my lessons.’
‘But you would not mind that, I should think. My girls are always so glad
to get lessons over. They would go mad with joy to have their month’s
holiday, and I am sure so would you.’
‘No,’ said Cara; ‘I am nearly twelve, and I can only play three or four
tunes, and talk a little French with Aunt Cherry. We pronounce very badly,’
she continued, with a blush. ‘I know by the French people who come to see
us in the Square.’
‘You poor child! do you mean to say they let you stay up at night, and
hear people talking in the drawing-room? How very wrong for you, both for
your mind and health! that is what makes you so thin, I am sure; and you
must hear a great many things that you ought not to hear.’
Cara opened her blue eyes very wide. She was on the whole gratified by
the idea that she had heard things she ought not to hear. That perhaps
accounted for her superior wisdom which she felt in herself.
‘Mamma says I ought to learn to judge for myself,’ she said, with dignity.
‘When there is an argument going on I like to listen, and often she makes me
tell her what I thought, and which side I take.’
Mrs. Burchell gave Agnes a significant look; and Agnes, it must be
allowed, who heard little conversation which did not turn on personal
subjects, was slightly horrified too.
‘Poor child!’ repeated the rector’s wife; ‘at your age!—and what kind of
subjects do they talk about? It must be very bad for you.’
‘Oh, about books chiefly,’ said Cara, ‘and pictures—but I don’t
understand pictures—and sometimes about politics. I like that—about
Ireland and Mr. Gladstone they talked once. And to hear the Frenchmen talk
about Ireland—just as if it were Poland, papa said.’
‘Well, I am sure it could not be much worse,’ Mrs. Burchell said, after a
pause of alarm. She did not know much about Ireland, except that they shot
landlords there, and that when she advertised for a housemaid she said ‘No
Irish need apply;’ and she knew nothing at all about Poland, and what the
analogy was between them she had not an idea. She looked at Cara after this
with a little awe; but naturally held fast by her censure, which no doubt must
be just, though she could not tell how.
‘It cannot be good for you to hear such talk as that,’ she said. ‘A good
romp and go to bed at eight o’clock, that is what I hold with for my girls.
You are a great deal too old for your age. Before you are eighteen, people
will be taking you for five-and-twenty. To hear you talk, one would think
you were eighteen now.’
‘I wish they would,’ said Cara; ‘I don’t like to be always thought a child.
I have often things I want to say just on my very lips. I know I could set the
people right if I might but speak. But mamma holds up her finger, and I dare
not. If I were eighteen, I should be grown up, and I might give my opinion—
and twenty-five! Is Agnes twenty-five?’
‘Agnes! you spiteful little thing!’ cried the mother, getting redder and
redder. Agnes was sixteen, and the eldest of five, so that to add anything to
her age was very undesirable. Cara was too much bewildered to ask what it
was which made her a ‘spiteful little thing,’ for just then they came to the
final plateau, where the path reached the level of the lawn. And there,
snipping away at her roses, was Miss Beresford herself, in a deep sun-bonnet
and garden gloves, with a large pair of scissors in her hand, and two baskets
at her feet. The roses were in the full flush of their second bloom,
notwithstanding their mistress’s fears. She was snipping off the withered
flowers, the defective buds, and yellow leaves on one hand, and here and
there making a savage dash at a sound twig infested by a colony of green
flies, while she cut roses for the decoration of the room. One of the baskets
was filled with these flowers, and Miss Cherry, who had preceded them, had
lifted this basket from the path, and was looking at it with a perplexed face.
‘There’s a “Malmaison” which is perfect,’ said Miss Charity; ‘and as for
those “Giant of Battles”——’ She liked to pronounce their names in her own
way, scorning pretence, as she said; and she put down her nose into the
basket with true satisfaction. The one thing in the world Miss Charity was a
little ‘off her head’ about was a fine rose.
‘They are fine flowers,’ said Miss Cherry, very seriously, her soft voice
relaxing, with no smile; ‘but the stalks are so short! How am I to arrange
them? unless you put them bolt upright, each one by itself, as they are in a
rose show?’
 ‘You don’t think I’m going to sacrifice my buds,’ said Miss Charity;
‘never! I see you do it, and that dolt of a gardener, and it goes to my heart.
Put them bolt upright; what could be better? or they do very well in flat
dishes. You can’t go wrong with roses; but sacrifice my buds—not for the
world!’
‘There is not one long enough to put in one’s belt,’ said Miss Cherry, who
looked half disposed to cry. ‘We have more roses than any one, but they
never look nice, for they never have any stalks. I must think what is to be
done. The flat dishes are not effective, and the pyramids are wearisome, and
specimen glasses make the table like a child’s garden.’
‘There’s a dinner party to-night,’ said Miss Beresford; ‘that’s why Cherry
is put out. Come to the arbour and sit down, you poor hot people. How very
hot you look, to be sure. That is what it is to be stout. Neither Cherry nor I
are stout, and it is a great advantage to us, especially in summer. Come,
Maria, you shall have some tea.’
‘I don’t consider myself stout,’ said Mrs. Burchell, offended. ‘The mother
of a large family naturally develops a little. “It would not do, my dear, if you
were as slim as you were at twenty,” my husband says to me; “only old
maids are thin:” and if he likes it——’
‘Yes; you see we’re all old maids here,’ said Miss Charity, with one of
her hearty laughs. Her handsome old face shone cool at the bottom of the
deep tunnel of her sun-bonnet, clear red and white, as if she had been
twenty; and with large, blue, undimmed eyes, from which little Cara had
taken hers, and not from either father’s or mother’s. Cara, indeed, was
considered by everybody ‘the very image’ of Miss Charity, and copied her
somewhat, it must be allowed, in a longer step and more erect carriage than
was common to little girls. Miss Charity put down her scissors in her other
basket, while Miss Cherry bent her reflective and troubled countenance over
the roses, and drew off her big garden gloves, and led the way to the arbour
or bower, which was not so cockney an erection as its name portended. At
that height, under the shadow of a group of big fragrant limes, in which two
openings cleverly cut revealed the broad beautiful plain below, one with St.
George’s noble Castle in the midst of the leafy frame, the air was always
fresh and sweet. By stretching your neck, as all the young Burchells knew,
you could see the dusty road below, and the Rectory lying deep down in the
shadow of the trees; but not a speck of dust made its way up to the soft
velvet lawn, or entered at the ever-opened windows. ‘Ah, yes, there’s our